Comlink
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider, set after the pilot episode, Knight of the Phoenix. Bonnie helps Kitt to communicate with his partner, but cannot find the right words to talk to Michael herself. What will it take to thaw the ice between them? Now with added angst!
1. Comlink

Holding the toughened plastic to her wrist, Bonnie Barstow flipped over the watch to fasten the strap. Even on the final hole, the band was oversized, but then she had designed it to fit the measurements of a man's arm and not her own.

One man in particular. Michael Knight.

Bonnie huffed in frustration and pushed the comlink halfway up her forearm so that she could fine tune the display. Technician and driver had so far only met once, briefly, in Devon Miles' office, and she had found herself unaccountably flustered. He was a tall – very tall – man of about her age, with a lot of hair and surprisingly blue eyes. Kitt had already described him to her, of course, but his report was far from encouraging and lacked certain details that a computer would not consider important. Like how tactile the man was, lingering over a handshake and touching her shoulder, or the way he walked around with half his chest on show. But Kitt had briefed her on Michael's apparent success with women and his lack of respect for technology, which was all she needed to know.

_'Are you going to fit me with my Dick Tracy watch?' he had asked her, his smiling eyes taking in every inch of her thankfully loose-fitting overalls._

_ 'When I've finished putting the Knight 2000 back together.'_

_ 'Oh, Kitt'll be fine, he's tough,' he reassured her._

_ The casual use of Kitt's name coming from the man who had insulted, neglected and finally managed to damage the advanced prototype had brought a flush of rage to Bonnie's face._

_ 'Yes, Kitt will be fine, with a different partner,' she had all but growled at him._

_ 'The old man seemed to think it would work out,' Michael told her. 'And your boss told me that the car was designed for me.'_

_ Who did he think he was, calling Wilton Knight 'the old man'? Even Bonnie had barely spoken to him during those first six months of her hectic employment, and she had been responsible for transferring Kitt's program into the Knight 2000 body. _

_ 'The car, yes,' she had replied, instantly regretting her words._

_ Knight smirked. 'What's the matter, Doctor Barstow? Afraid I'll break one of your toys?'_

_ 'Kitt is not a toy, Mr Knight.'_

An electronic beeping brought Bonnie back to the present. She looked at the comlink, but the device hadn't been activated yet. A second beep drew her attention to the computer console, her only remote connection with Kitt now that he was installed in the car.

Tapping a key, Bonnie opened the channel. "Everything OK, Kitt?" she asked.

"My self-diagnostic routine has completed, Bonnie," Kitt's softly-spoken synthesised voice reported back over the computer's speakers. "Should I run a sub-system check?"

Bonnie smiled at the monitor. In other words, he was bored.

"No, not tonight," she told him. "Any problems to report?"

"No, Bonnie, everything's fine."

"Where's Michael?" she asked.

Bonnie had many different names for Kitt's driver, from 'the nut behind the wheel' to 'Sid', the nickname for crash test dummies, but she tried not to use them when talking to Kitt. Aside from still having to explain jokes and allusions to him, the last time she had slipped up and called Michael 'Stretch' in Kitt's presence, the computer had been surprisingly sensitive in jumping to the defence of his human partner. Bonnie marvelled at how eagerly Kitt was bonding with Michael, adapting almost overnight from detachment to devotion, without any apparent corresponding adjustment in his driver's attitude to the 'talking car'. Kitt's subservience was programmed into him, an Asimovian safety code to protect human from machine, but that hardly explained why the normally outspoken and determined personality of the Knight 2000 that Bonnie knew so well was now seeking approval from a blue collar playboy.

"I don't know," Kitt answered plainly. "He didn't bother to inform me."

"Well, at least he didn't take you with him," Bonnie said, imagining the sort of after-hours activity that a man like Michael Knight would probably have planned. "It's a lot safer if he returns you to –" 'To me', she wanted to say, "– the Foundation when he's not on official business, Kitt."

"Not for Michael," Kitt argued. "He could be in danger right now, and there's no way for me to know."

Bonnie ran her finger over the transmit button on the comlink. Did she really want to bring them even closer together? "I have a solution to that," she sighed. "Are you ready to test a new component, Kitt?"

Bending almost double in the driver's seat, her face pressed against the steering wheel, Bonnie felt blindly for the override control panel and engaged the switch. An electronic alarm sounded, low-pitched but insistent. Aware that Kitt was now at his most vulnerable, she gave her instructions quickly and clearly, watching the CPU status on the dash display.

"All right, Kitt, access your communications system," she told him.

"Yes, Bonnie," he acknowledged, and the LED gauge flashed green.

"Now, open a channel and set it to receive a private frequency."

"Ready," Kitt confirmed almost instantly.

"Standby."

Bonnie clicked the adjustment dial to the right and then straightened up in her seat, leaving the control panel open. Resting her left wrist over the top of the steering wheel, she pressed the transmit button on the comlink to activate the device. 'Calibrate' scrolled in blue letters across the digital readout beneath the speedometer, then changed to 'searching'. When 'frequency' flashed up, Bonnie glanced at Kitt's voice modulator.

"Have you established a channel, Kitt?"

"Yes, Bonnie. Transmitting at 5 MHz," the computer reported to her. "Do you need the channel designation and frequency modulation?"

"Not for this connection, Kitt," she said, busying herself with unnecessary adjustments. "This is your private link to Michael, not the Foundation."

The comlink's private carrier frequency was a two-way channel between the Knight 2000 and its driver. Bonnie would stay in contact over the secure connection used for transferring data packets between Kitt and the FLAG mainframe, which Michael could also tap into. She was not being pushed out exactly, but Kitt's alliance with Knight was gradually replacing his dependence on Bonnie as technician, which was to be expected. Wilton Knight would be satisfied with the result, she knew, but handing over the keys was proving harder than she thought.

"A communicator built into a wristwatch," Kitt said, considering the concept. "Practical, convenient, and unobtrusive, Bonnie," he added in high praise. "How do I refer to it?"

"It's a comlink," Bonnie told him, slightly embarrassed by the name after Michael's 'Dick Tracy' reference. "Communications linkage," she explained.

"Does it have other functions?"

"The comlink is an extension of you, Kitt," she told him. "Not only can Michael communicate with you within a fairly extensive radius, but he can also remotely access most of your capabilities, from audio and visual recording to infrared scanning. Most important, I guess, is the inbuilt homing device – now you'll always know where he is."

"Or where the comlink is, at least," Kitt observed drily.

Bonnie pressed the function button on the watch face and scrolled through the settings. "There is a way to tell if Michael is still wearing the link, and if he's OK," she explained. "Access your medical scanner, Kitt."

Kitt silently scanned the device. "Bonnie, I'm reading a pulse rate, slightly elevated," he reported hesitantly. Bonnie glanced at the plastic strap on her wrist and smiled to herself: betrayed by her own invention. "Is that coming from you?"

She nodded. "There's a small electrode in the watch band that acts like a basic EKG monitor. Whenever the comlink is attached to anything with a pulse, you'll receive a signal."

Kitt took a second to process this information, then said simply, "Thank you, Bonnie."

He sounded so openly grateful to have a permanent connection with his driver that Bonnie couldn't find the words to acknowledge him. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and started to unfasten the strap.

"Stop, Bonnie," Kitt interrupted her. "What about the transceiver? We haven't tested the main function of the comlink yet."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Anything to escape the garage," she said, smiling.

Being transplanted from a computer mainframe into a sports car with a powerful engine had generated a very human sense of wanderlust in the artificial intelligence. After two years confined to a static system, Kitt now identified himself with the Knight 2000, adapting quickly to the increased autonomy and mobility of driving on four wheels. Inherently curious and exploratory, he was constantly seeking to expand the parameters of his awareness, and Wilton Knight's car allowed Kitt unlimited scope for learning. Unfortunately, so did his new driver.

"What did you have in mind, Kitt?"

"A field test, of course."

"Then I'll have to stand in for Michael Knight," she joked, getting out of the car.

Bonnie sighed. She wasn't the agent, she was the scientist. Instead of locking onto her heartbeat to make sure she was safe, Kitt was going to leave her waiting behind in the garage, while he tested the range and signal strength of the comlink.

She doubted this would be the last time.

Chewing on her lip, Bonnie watched Kitt reverse neatly onto the concrete apron in front of the garage bay. His scanner was pulsing quickly from side to side in the early evening shadows, and the empty cabin glowed with soft light from the dashboard. She followed him outside, listening with a practiced ear to the distinctive sound of the Knight 2000, and paced after his effortless manoeuvre into the tight space next to the FLAG mobile unit. Pointing in the right direction, Kitt flicked on his foglights.

"Signal me at the end of the drive," Bonnie prompted, "and I'll answer you on the comlink. If the transmission is clear enough, head towards the track, and we'll repeat the test every quarter mile."

"Yes, Bonnie."

Kitt's reply seemed to come from her pocket. Barely audible over the grumble of the idling engine, he sounded faint and flat, a reduced imitation of his usual rounded tones. Bonnie lifted her arm and stared at the comlink. A red LED was flashing steadily in the corner of the display.

Pressing the transmit button, Bonnie raised the watch to her lips. "Do you read me, Kitt?" she asked, catching a reflection of her oversized Knight Industries overalls in the tinted side mirror. Turning away, she waited for him to answer.

"You could almost be standing next to me, Bonnie," Kitt's voice, slightly louder and clearer, came back over the link.

"Very funny, Kitt," she said, smiling to herself. "The speaker on the comlink needs amplifying, but otherwise reception is good. Let's try it from the drive."

"Ready when you are, Bonnie."

She heard the transmission drop into gear and Kitt set the car in motion, switching on the stronger sunken headlights before he turned into the drive. Again, she walked after him, routinely checking that the car's stoplights came on when they should. She couldn't help it. Kitt was smarter, stronger and faster than she was – even better-looking, Bonnie thought wryly – but he brought out the protective, even possessive, side of her nature. He was still so unprepared for working with people, too eager to please and ready to be hurt, that Bonnie felt sick every time he left the garage.

Even Michael Knight was an unknown quantity, open-minded enough to be partnered with a computerised car yet defensive of his independence. He was human, Kitt was a machine; Michael gave the orders, Kitt carried out his instructions; one 'partner' existed to serve the other, and Kitt was prepared to accept those conditions. They were a curious combination of equal but opposite personalities, working towards the same objective from different angles, and Bonnie didn't know what to expect. Kitt could be difficult to work with, but he was the dependent variable in the experiment – Michael Knight was the one who would determine the result of Wilton Knight's vision, and the course of Kitt's development.

The Knight 2000 navigated the familiar route with fluent ease, reading changes in gradient and topography like a virtual contour map. Kitt's tires purred over concrete and crunched across gravel until he reached the rhythmic pattern of paving stones that lead in a curve to the circular drive at the front of the mansion. He had a parking space of his own here, 'reserved for Foundation employees', where Michael knew to look for him when they were engaged on an urgent case. Of course, Kitt would now be able to drive to Michael when he called on the comlink, meeting his partner halfway.

He followed the path around the circular fountain, turning his steering wheel in a neat arc, and then opened the throttle into the straight line of the drive. Kitt enjoyed Michael's company, but there was an unmistakable satisfaction in being allowed to control his own body. No driver, however skilled or experienced, could ever know the Knight 2000 like the computer at the heart of the powerful machine. Kitt didn't just pilot the car, he _was_ the car; his programs and perceptors were integrated into every mechanical instrument and electronic component that made Wilton Knight's creation so incredible.

Sweeping the immediate area with his scanner, Kitt mapped an accurate layout of the Foundation grounds, searching for any potential obstacles by matching the real world against the control points of his navigation system.

The figure leaning against a tree, for instance, was an attribute that Kitt had not expected to find but could now vector into his virtual landscape. Caught in the wash of the car's headlights, the man turned towards the drive, and the computer was forced to update his algorithm yet again, because he recognised him instantly.

Michael Knight jogged across the grass to meet his partner. "Kitt?"

"Yes, Michael," Kitt replied evenly, scanning his partner's laboured breathing and unusual apparel.

"Erm – where are you going?" Michael asked, in a delayed reaction to the driverless car.

"The test track," Kitt told him. "Where have you been?"

Michael held his arms out from his sides, indicating his perspiration-soaked sleeveless t-shirt and corresponding sports attire. "Running. I need to keep in shape somehow, now that I spend every day sitting on my backside while you clock up the miles."

"That's what cars are for, Michael."

"I know it, Kitt," he said, leaning against the roof while he stretched out his legs, "that's why I have to push myself." Michael frowned in at the side window mid-lunge. "Did Bonnie OK this test run of yours, or were you making a break for it?"

"Of course not, Michael," Kitt answered him seriously. "Bonnie is monitoring my progress from the garage."

"Huh," he panted. "What are you testing?"

"A new component."

"A new one? I didn't think there was room." Michael held onto Kitt's side mirror while bending one leg up behind his back. "What now, a donut dispenser?" he laughed.

"Hardly, Michael."

"That was a joke, Kitt," he explained, switching legs. "Can I come along for the ride, or would that interfere with whatever you're testing?"

The driver's door popped open, bumping Michael's knee. "Not at all, Michael," he said. "In fact, quite the reverse."

"Why, what's the problem?" Michael asked, dropping down into his seat. "Oh, that's better," he groaned, reclining against the plush upholstery.

"Michael, what are you doing?"

"Cooling down," he sighed, closing his eyes. "I'll let you do the driving."

"Thank you, Michael," Kitt answered, moving forward. "Actually, Bonnie and I are testing a new communications device –"

"Oh, the Dick Tracy watch?" Michael interrupted, opening his eyes.

"The _comlink_, Michael," Kitt corrected his partner.

"Yeah, the comlink," he said. "It's ready?"

"Yes, Michael," the computer confirmed. "Bonnie was going to explain the different functions to you tomorrow, but why not tonight?"

Michael Knight was silent for a second, surprised by Kitt's enthusiasm. "Tomorrow's good enough for me, Kitt," he said carefully. "I'm tired, I need a shower, and it's getting late. I'm sure Bonnie doesn't want to hang around the garage all night, either."

The car coasted to a stop near the gates. "Then I could show you how to use the comlink," Kitt suggested, aware of the antagonism between his driver and technician.

"Kitt, I think I could figure it out for myself," Michael told him. "We used lapel mikes and earpieces all the time –" He gave a quick sigh and stopped talking, a gesture that Kitt was starting to understand.

"When you were working undercover," he finished for him. "The comlink works on the same principle, Michael: constant communication. I can only protect you when you are inside the car, but the nature of our work – and your reckless disposition – means that my armoured shell will all too frequently be proved redundant. Unless, of course, you have the means to contact me when you are in danger."

"I know, Kitt, and I appreciate it," Michael said. He rested his hand against the curve of the dash. "There were a couple of times in Millston when I could have used your help sooner," he admitted.

Kitt said nothing, but his overriding memory of their first mission in Silicon Valley seemed to support his driver's retrospective analysis: being impounded in the Comtron building until Devon Miles instructed him that Michael was in danger, and waiting for his wounded driver to return to him after detecting gunshots. In both instances, the comlink would have saved them both considerable time and trouble.

A signal from the communications panel caught Kitt off guard, but he quickly located the source. "Kitt, where are you?" Bonnie's voice filled the car.

"I'm sorry for not responding, Bonnie," he answered her. "Michael's here."

Silence. Kitt checked the channel, but they were still connected.

"Oh," she said after a second. "Hello, Michael."

"Uh – sorry for fouling up your test, Doctor Barstow," he announced.

"There's no need to shout, and call me Bonnie," she said. "Kitt, come on back, reception is fine. You can carry out a more in-depth field test tomorrow, with Mr Knight."

"And every day after that, partner," Michael added.

"I'll ... leave the comlink in the garage for you, Michael," Bonnie told him. "Kitt, I have to finish up in the lab. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, Bonnie," Michael called out.

"She's gone, Michael."

"Your technician doesn't like me much, does she?" he asked, moving his hands to the wheel.

Kitt processed the question. Bonnie's perception of Michael Knight, the man chosen by Wilton Knight to pilot the Knight 2000, was certainly less than favourable, but then Kitt's initial assessment had also been discouraging. He hoped that Bonnie would think more of Michael when she got to know him better, like working together in Millston had finally united Kitt with his driver.

"She doesn't know you," Kitt said. Michael turned his eyes to the flickering panel of the voice modulator. "She will," he added confidently.

Michael smiled. "Any insider information you want to share with me, buddy?"

"Praise her work, not her appearance," Kitt suggested. "Respect what she does. And don't damage this car. I wouldn't care to repeat her exact words when I was towed home from Millston."

"I think I can guess," Michael laughed. He took the car out of auto cruise, and slipped the transmission into reverse. "Let's go marvel at Doctor Barstow's technical genius, pal."

Bonnie stripped off the wristwatch and set it on the workbench, ready for Michael to find when they came back. The thick strap had pressed into her arm, leaving an imprint. She massaged the skin impatiently before rolling down her sleeve. With a final glance around the empty space, checking the instruments and wheel ramps that Kitt would use overnight, she shut down her console and turned off the main bank of fluorescent lights overhead. Her part was done.


	2. Driver's Seat

**A/N: Thanks to Gumnut and Sara for offering advice and approval in equal measures!**

Outside on the forecourt she paused, listening to the soft silence of evening. The absence of activity was so different from the days leading up to the completion of the Knight 2000, barely six months earlier. Wilton Knight had suddenly started piling on the pressure, demanding more from his engineers and programmers, insisting that the car needed to be ready within the month, the week, the next forty-eight hours. Bonnie had known about Michael, the cop fighting for his life in Wilton Knight's mansion, and how he fitted into the project they were all working flat out to finish, but lacked even a spare second to speculate about him. She had been entirely focused on Kitt, connecting him to the car, helping him to adjust, programming him to take orders from a stranger who might not even survive. Michael Knight had been nothing but a name to her then, and only a sub-routine to Kitt.

Now –

Bonnie turned. There was no mistaking the shrill whirring of Kitt's turbine engine, which was getting louder and nearer. She suddenly wanted to run or hide, but the higher pitch of the turbine was soon accompanied by the bass growl of the exhaust and there was no time to escape. Bright headlights bounced around the corner, taking the curve up from the drive with too much power, so that Michael – she knew who was driving – had to compensate sharply with the brakes. Kitt's tyres made a chirruping sound on the concrete as he rolled to a stop in front of the garage.

"Do you have to drive like that?" she demanded when the driver's door opened.

Michael Knight unfolded himself from the car, rising up to his full height. He smiled down on her and she took a step back, taking in his damp hair and the clothes he was wearing.

"What's the point in owning a car like this without having a little fun?" he grinned. "Besides, Kitt and I _like_ driving like that."

Bonnie shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "The watch is on the bench in there," she sighed. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

He caught her arm. "Doctor Barstow – Bonnie –"

"What?"

Michael peered into her face, those bright blue eyes of his shielded from the glare of the security light by long, dark lashes. Bonnie looked away, but he held onto her.

"Come on," he said finally, steering her by her elbow towards the car. "We're going for a ride."

"Michael, I can't just –"

She started dragging her feet like a child, but he got behind her and pushed her along, his hand on the small of her back.

"Michael, what on earth are you doing?" Kitt asked.

"Introducing myself," he told the computer.

Bonnie folded her legs and dropped onto the driver's seat in time to save her head from connecting with the MBS of Kitt's frame. Once inside, she kept her feet firmly on the ground, glaring up at Michael. "Are you nuts?" she hissed.

"We need to get past this, Bonnie," he explained patiently, leaning on the window to block her escape. "We're supposed to be working together."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"You're in the driver's seat, Doctor Barstow," he said, indicating her location with the open palm of his hand. "What are you worried about? Kitt's here, after all."

Bonnie turned her head slightly towards the dashboard. "All right," she said. "Let's get this over with. Where do you want to go?"

"Where do you usually go?" Michael asked.

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on," he challenged her. "You built this car. Are you trying to tell me that you've never been behind the wheel?"

"I didn't build the car," she told him with more confidence. "Wilton Knight's team of engineers designed and constructed the Knight 2000 before I started working here."

Michael shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

"Fine," Bonnie said, swinging her feet inside. "Since we're all working together now, let's go." She reached for the door. "Are you ready?"

He smiled at her and gave Kitt's t-top a friendly pat. Bonnie slammed the driver's door shut about an inch away from his fingers. She had to adjust the seat manually, sliding forward until her feet rested comfortably on the pedals. When she glanced up, he was watching her through the windshield, unsure whether to step in front of the car.

"What does he think I'm going to do, run him down?" she muttered to Kitt.

"Or leave him behind," the AI put forward.

They watched Michael skirt quickly around the sculpted prow of the car, the red beam of the scanner sweeping over his legs, and hurry towards the passenger side.

"Thanks for waiting," he laughed, slipping into the empty seat.

She was closely aware of him sitting beside her, his knees pressed up against the dashboard, one hand holding onto the curve of the instrument panel ergonomically designed to accommodate his tall frame. Heat seemed to be rolling from his bare arms, and in the small space of Kitt's interior she could smell whatever shower gel or shampoo he used.

The car was facing in the wrong direction, but Bonnie executed the neatest three point turn of her life, and without Kitt's help, to show Michael that the Knight 2000 could be driven sensibly.

She turned to check the rear window before backing towards the garage, and caught him watching her hands on the wheel. "Afraid I'll damage your car, Mr Knight?"

He smiled again, that infuriatingly friendly, encouraging smile that no one could be offended by.

"No, I was just thinking how well you handle the controls," he told her. "Guess this isn't your first time in that seat after all."

"I didn't build the car, Michael," she said, shifting into drive," but I spent every day and night for six months working inside and underneath it, and I know every engine part and circuit board and the wires and relays that connect them."

Michael held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I wasn't questioning your ability, Bonnie," he calmed her. "I know what you must have put into this car, and why it matters so much to you."

"I put Kitt into this car," she said, lifting her foot off the brake pedal. "That's why it matters."

The Knight 2000 surged forward, leaving Bonnie struggling to turn in time. She felt the wheel shift in her hands, aware that Kitt was helping her steer right towards the driveway, and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. Michael was focused almost pointedly on the high beams of the headlights, not paying any attention to her driving. Bonnie wanted to kick herself; she knew she could handle the Knight 2000 better than this. Tracing the same path that Kitt had taken barely half an hour previously, Bonnie settled back, wrapping her fingers around the controls, and concentrated on operating the safest, strongest car in the world.

Human interaction confounded Kitt. He was programmed to work with Michael Knight, executing and even anticipating the commands of his driver, and of course Bonnie had written that code, but their behaviour towards each other defied logic. Michael was trying to gain her compliance by route of kidnap and interrogation, while in return Bonnie aimed to teach his partner a lesson, driving the car with empirical precision. Stuck in the middle of this battle of wills, Kitt found himself reduced to the level of a captive witness, neglected yet observant. He was learning a lot from the experience.

The Knight 2000 merged seamlessly with the late evening traffic on the Pasadena Freeway, darting in and out of the narrow lanes with a high-speed confidence that Bonnie normally lacked. Kitt studied her face in the flickering artificial light and shadow of the freeway at night, reading the set line of her lips and the way her eyes were locked on the windshield. Only occasionally did she shoot a quick look to her right.

Michael was also watching the road, mapping the lane ahead and checking on the other cars around them. He belonged behind the wheel, and was uneasy in the passenger seat.

"What was it like, working with Wilton Knight?" he asked her.

"I have no idea," Bonnie returned, glancing at him. "You probably saw more of him than I did."

He said nothing for a minute, studying her profile, then looked away. "I was out of action for three months, remember? The first time I saw the old man was when the bandages came off, and by then he was pretty sick himself."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said quietly. "I remember, but that doesn't mean I knew him any better than you did. He hired me to do a job, that's all."

She returned her attention to the road, leaving the freeway to join the 101. The dashboard before her was alive with indicator lights and status displays, all designed for the instruction of the driver, but Kitt knew that Bonnie trusted him to control the car. At all times, he was aware of the speed limit and when to go faster, how much traction to apply on the roads in wet and dry conditions, when to switch on his lights and wipers, not to mention finding the quickest route to any destination plotted into his navigational system.

He knew where Bonnie was taking them because the directions were stored in his memory banks, but her choice of location was yet another example of the fuzzy logic employed by humans. Kitt didn't understand her motivation, but he would follow her judgement.

"Why did Wilton pick you?" Michael asked, gazing out of the side window at the city lights. He kept checking the signs and lane markers as they flashed by, but didn't ask her the obvious question.

"Why did he pick a woman, do you mean?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit, will you?"

"But isn't that what you thought, when you saw me in Devon's office?" she challenged him. "You didn't see a technician, or a scientist, you saw a woman."

"Yes, I saw a very attractive woman in white coveralls," he admitted, "but I also heard Devon introduce you as Doctor Bonnie Barstow. Why can't you be both?"

Bonnie said nothing. She turned her head to check the side mirror, and Kitt was ready for her to signal and move into the slow lane, but instead they continued onward at the same speed.

"Bonnie, the exit for Beverly Hills is coming up," he warned her.

"Damn it," she muttered, throwing the car across two lanes of traffic.

In the passenger seat, Michael braced himself against the dashboard. "Where the hell are we going in such a hurry?" he called out to her over the squeal of protesting tires.

"We're going home," Bonnie announced. "Back to the start of one man's dream."

Hidden from sight and still heavily guarded, Wilton Knight's mansion estate continued to protect the old man's secrecy after his death. The Knight 2000 swept up into the canyons above the city, headlights flashing past the iron gates and high walls of sprawling, secure properties set miles apart from their neighbours. Michael took in his surroundings with quiet unease, remembering his recent stay in these hills.

"Did Knight have a family?"

"There's an ex-wife and a daughter, I think," Bonnie told him, "but the house is empty, and anyway, that's not where we're going."

When they reached the gateway to Knight's grounds, she slowed and turned onto the broad sidewalk, nosing the car up to a guard post. There was an intercom, card reader and biometric scanner on the hi-tech security panel next to the driver's door, but Bonnie didn't even wind down the window.

"All right, Kitt, let us in," she told the computer.

Michael watched the red pulse of Kitt's scanner trail back and forth over the ornate railings, and then the gates started to swing open. He turned to Bonnie, who was waiting for a wide enough gap to drive through, and noticed the green glow of a digital readout on the panel telling them to 'ENTER'.

"That's one hell of an electric gate opener," he laughed.

"I have full access to the security system, Michael," Kitt informed him. "Bonnie, I have sent a message to the guardhouse telling them to expect us," he added.

"Thanks, Kitt," she said. "OK, Michael?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "This place is like a mausoleum – the old man is dead, the house is shut up. There's nothing here for us anymore, except memories."

Bonnie guided the car along the driveway, triggering motion sensors on lights hidden amongst the greenery. "History, not memories," she corrected him. "This is where Kitt came online, in Wilton Knight's private research facility."

Michael recalled the old man coming to his room, checking on the patient. He used to stand at his bedside, leaning heavily on his walking cane, and talk to him about the past and the future. Apprised of Michael's condition by the medical staff, Knight would then cross slowly to the French windows and move out onto the balcony. If Devon was with him, the two would talk in hushed tones about the status of the 'project'. When Michael was back on his feet, curiosity had drawn him to the balcony, to see what they saw and guess about the 'project' they were working on. Almost directly behind the mansion, dominating the view, stood an immense structure like an aircraft hangar. The larger access bays stayed closed while Michael watched, but Knight Industries technicians in hardhats and white overalls were continually milling in and out of a smaller access door. Perhaps Bonnie had been one of them. Answered with more questions, Michael had set out on his first covert investigation since Wilton Knight rescued him from the Nevada desert, and broken into the mysterious complex. What he found inside was beyond his wildest expectations.

A red light focused on him in the dark.

His old car, or so he had thought, waiting for a driver.

The Knight Industries Two Thousand, and a new life for Michael Knight.

Bonnie circled around the mansion, now an empty shell with blank windows, and headed towards the utilitarian garage structure behind. When they passed the stone staircase leading up to the terrace, Michael's eyes were drawn to the house while his thoughts turned to the recent past. He remembered running until his muscles burned and he could barely breathe, running in circles that always brought him back to the same place because there was nowhere else to go. And he remembered Wilton Knight, watching him from the steps with a pair of binoculars, monitoring his progress.

"I must have covered every path on this estate, trying to get back in shape," he said. "All the way around the perimeter and back to the house, every day for two weeks. I nearly killed myself."

Bonnie stopped the car, switching off the engine. "I know the feeling," she told him.

Michael turned to face her. He had been staring blankly through the side window, lost in his thoughts, but the tone of her words brought him back. She spoke openly, treating him like an ally if not a friend. "What do you mean?"

"Wilton Knight was pushing my team to work harder and faster, too," she explained, looking past Michael to the floodlit wall of the garage beyond. "We had to be ready when you were." Her eyes met his. "I guess we were all feeling the burn, in one way or another."

"Bonnie –" He was afraid to tell her the truth, but found he couldn't lie to her either. "I wasn't training, I was running away. When I got strong enough to fight, I was going to leave this place and never look back."

The sharp look of disbelief, of disgust, on her face hurt Michael more than if she had screamed or hit out at him. "Strong enough to fight who?" she asked instead, the edge back in her voice.

"Strong enough to fight for myself," he told her.

"What about us?" she demanded, then added, "What about the man who saved your life?"

Michael shook his head. "I know," he sighed. The underside of the dashboard was starting to bite into his raised knees, and there was nothing for him to focus on or occupy his hands. He glanced over at the muted lights of Kitt's displays. "I'm not proud of how I treated the old man, but he got what he wanted in the end – me and Kitt."

"'Got what he wanted'?" Bonnie echoed. She was gripping the wheel with such force that her hand was trembling. "You have no idea what 'the old man' wanted, Michael."

Michael said nothing, waiting to hear what she had to say. He had forced her into this corner, and if he backed down now, they would always be at odds. Plus he had no intention of walking back to the Foundation.

"Michael, when Kitt was in development, we hardly ever saw Wilton Knight in the labs or the garage," she told him. "He was only interested in keeping you alive."

"I was an investment," he shrugged, "a project, just like Kitt. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything he did for me, but he saved my life for a reason."

"And I programmed Kitt to protect your life, Michael," Bonnie said. "Wilton Knight gave you more than a second chance. I can't believe you wanted to throw all that away."

He stared at her, trying to figure out her mood. "You know, for someone who was only 'hired to do a job', Bonnie, the old man and his dream obviously mean a hell of a lot to you." They faced each other in tense silence for a second. "Are you jealous, or something?" Michael asked, not unkindly.

"Of you?" Bonnie said, smiling for the first time that evening. "No, Mr Knight, I am not jealous of you." She settled back into her seat. "You're good at what you do, and so am I – that's why we're here."

"So what's the problem?"

"Wilton Knight fought for you, Michael," she told him, frowning at the dashboard. "He could have found another driver, and reprogrammed Kitt to work with a different partner, but instead he spent time he didn't have on keeping you alive."

"You sound like that's a bad thing," he joked, trying to bring that lovely smile back to her face.

"No, I'm glad he was there for you," she said, looking at him. "Your life was the key to his dream, but he genuinely cared, Michael. Nothing else mattered – the car, the technology. Kitt." Her eyes turned back to the dashboard, and the silent intelligence lurking beyond. "Devon Miles kept Wilton up to date, but the whole project depended on the survival of one man. So if you want to accuse anyone of selfish motives, start with me – I wanted you to live so that Knight Industries would continue to fund Kitt's development."

Her confession caught Michael by surprise. He knew how she felt about him – calling him names, criticizing his driving, and keeping her distance – but he had put her hostile attitude down to professional pride. Now he wasn't so sure. Kitt inspired trust and friendship in people, but the bond between technician and computer was obviously a lot stronger, and went far deeper, than Michael was able to grasp.

"I'm not accusing anyone," he told her. "My motives for staying on are not exactly blameless, either. I wanted revenge, Bonnie. I wanted to make Tanya Walker pay, and that's why Wilton Knight picked me to fight his battles. Using his name, and his money – and his car – was the fastest way to clear my debt to him."

"So you used each other," she noted derisively. "Why are you still here?"

"A lot of reasons, some more honourable than others," he hedged. "In the end, I got a lot more out of this deal than payback, including a good friend." Michael nodded at Kitt's voice modulator. "So I guess I owe you too, Doctor Barstow."

Bonnie studied him. "You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do," he smiled. "I owe you for all the work you do, that I don't begin to understand but already rely on," Michael explained, spreading his arms to take in the car's interior. "For Kitt."

He covered her hand with his. "Thank you, Bonnie."

She let his fingers rest over hers for a second, and then slipped her hand free. Michael watched her press the power button, activating the sequence of lights above the voice panel. He could feel the engine rumbling through the car's frame, and wanted to feel that power at his fingertips.

"Do you want to trade places?" Bonnie asked him with a smile.

Michael eyed the steering yoke. "No, that's OK," he decided.

"May I suggest a compromise?" Kitt interposed. The drive mode display below his voice modulator switched from 'Normal' to 'Auto' with a resolved beep. "Allow me."


End file.
